The Adventures of Barfboy and Hurlgirl
by Sjoeks
Summary: teen!chesters : 15 year old Sam is ill and left alone by his dad and Dean. His feverish mind makes up a friend to keep him company and relieve some of the pain. sick!Sam caring!OC ONESHOT


Sam's cough was loud, deep and wet. He turned on his side to bury is head in his pillow and was unable to stop a pained moan from escaping through his lips. For a moment, he was glad Dean and dad weren't around.

He'd been ill for two days now. At first, it was just a cough and a running nose, but after a few hours, he'd really started to feel like shit. He'd sat in the classroom, miserable and shivering, trying not to pass out in his seat, slumped against the wall. Jeremy had said '_dude, go home, you have a fever'_ but he'd insisted that he was fine. Of course he was fine. He was always fine. Why wouldn't he be fine?

When the bell rang to announce lunch, he was glad that he wouldn't have to try and pay attention for an hour. That was until he stepped into the cafeteria and he'd smelled the food. His stomach had lurched and he'd had to run to the bathroom with his hand clamped over his mouth. When he was finally done puking his guts out, Sarah had decided that it couldn't go on like this. He'd weakly protested, but she'd grabbed his arm and dragged him to the nurse. It had been no use trying to fight her. Half an hour later, dad had stormed in.

"I'm sorry dad," Sam had mumbled. He hadn't wanted to disappoint his dad. John had rolled his eyes and shook his head with a worried smile on his face.

"Don't be silly, Sammy," he'd said, and he'd helped his son to the Impala. He all but had to carry Sam to his bed, where he'd lain shivering and coughing and throwing up for two days now. Dean had placed a bucket next to his bed after Sam had failed to make it to the bathroom in time and had puked all over the floor. He'd been lucky Dean had been hovering over him since his dad had carried him in, or he'd have collapsed face first into his own mess.

He didn't remember much from the past two days, just how cold and sick and miserable he'd felt. And Dean and dad in full-on nurse and worry mode. But this morning, he'd felt slightly better. He knew his dad and Dean were working on a case, and they hadn't been able to work much since Sam had fallen ill, so he'd told them that he was fine, that he didn't mind them spending their day working on the job. After all, it wasn't like he was _dying_.

Of course, five minutes after the door had closed behind his family, Sam had regretted his words. He longed for his dad and for Dean. And he felt worse again.

He moaned again, louder this time and pressed his hands against his head. His headache was killing him and his stomach was in knots. He shivered and tried to pull the covers even higher. They were slightly damp and he was certain they smelled rather badly. He was certain _he_ smelled awful. He hadn't left his bed in three days, except for when Dean or his dad had to support him to the bathroom to do his thing. He was secretly grateful for the bucket Dean had placed next to his bed, even though he found it immensely gross to puke in it. But hey, it was better than to hurl all over the floor and bed.

He held his breath as he heard a door open and close again. He tried to push himself up a little, but found himself too weak to actually leave the bed.

"Dean?" he called, reaching for the gun on his nightstand, "Dad?"

No one answered, but he could hear someone shuffling in another room. The apartment they were renting wasn't big. Sam and Dean shared a bedroom and dad had his own. There was one bathroom and a small living room with a walk-in kitchen. He knew there was someone in his apartment. And it wasn't his family.

"I'm armed!" he warned the person in the other room. It was not because he could barely stand that he couldn't shoot the bastard when he entered his room.

"Oh please," a girl said next to him. He jumped a little and strained his neck as he turned towards the sound, "Like you're going to shoot me."

She was sitting on Dean's bed, yet he had not seen her enter. She had long, wavy black hair that fell down her back like a waterfall, and big brown eyes. She had a nice all-year-round tan that revealed her non-American roots. Maybe one of her parents was a Hispanic.

"Who are you?" Sam asked. Or tried to, as another coughing fit overwhelmed him and he couldn't breathe. He could feel his face turn red and tears stream down his cheeks, but he couldn't stop them. All he could do was cough, and stare at the intruder through hazy eyes.

"Sammy?" she hopped off the bed and crawled over his legs to sit behind him. She tried to get him to sit upright so he could breathe more easily and she mumbled soothing things in his ear. He didn't quite catch them over his loud coughing. The moment she touched him, something dawned on him.

She wasn't real.

He sagged in her arms when he was finally done coughing and she softly laid him on the bed, brushing the hair out of his face. She had a worried look on her face and he noticed that she looked a lot like Stella, the girl in his Spanish class he had a crush on.

"Who are you?" he whispered hoarsely. She shrugged and smiled at him.

"Evanna?" it sounded more like a question than a statement and Sam frowned. She took his hand and peeled his fingers open, so she could grab the gun before he would hurt anyone. He hadn't realized his was still holding it. He could have shot himself! Or the figment of his imagination that was sitting next to him.

"You're not real," he stated.

"What's real?" she retorted and winked at him.

"Why are you here?" he asked and groaned softly as he pressed his hand against his churning stomach. He just wished he wouldn't throw up again. He was sick and tired of being sick.

"Hurlgirl to the rescue, Barfboy," she answered and laughed. She lay down next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. It wasn't all too uncomfortable actually. Sam shivered and pressed more closely against her, trying to catch some of her body heat. She didn't feel much warmer than the air around him.

"Can you turn the heat up?" he asked her. She pushed herself up again and stared down at him. Her hair fell down her shoulders and tickled his ear and neck. She laid her hand on his forehead and made a disapproving sound, wrinkling her nose.

"Sure, Barfboy," she said and jumped off the bed.

"It's Sam."

"Whatever, BB," she grinned over her shoulder and turned the thermostat up.

"BB?" he asked.

"Barfboy," she smiled from ear to ear and her teeth stood out against the dark red of her lipstick.

"If you're not real," Sam wondered, "Can I make you ugly?"

"Go ahead and try," she teased. He closed his eyes and pictured the ugliest girl in his school. When he opened his eyes again, she wasn't there. Confused, he pushed himself up again to look around in the room. She was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, he felt relieved. At least he didn't have to worry about him losing his mind anymore. He closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable in his clammy bed. The ticking off the clock on Dean's nightstand gave him a headache. He shivered harder and his teeth rattled against each other, making his headache even worse. His stomach made a low rumbling noise and he held his breath, lying perfectly still in the hope the nausea would pass again.

"It's okay, baby," a soft voice whispered in his ear. Rather cold hands caressed his back in an effort to make him feel better. He didn't have to open his eyes to know that Evanna had returned from wherever she'd gone. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he actually felt better now that she was close again.

In a way, she was like Dean: she made him feel better just by being close. She didn't smell like Dean though. Dean smelled of coffee and leather and sometimes of sweat and blood. Evanna smelled of perfume and somehow, of cough syrup.

Sam opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the sun that was seeping through the curtains. She was leaning over him with a bottle of cough medicine in one hand, and a spoon filled with the thick stuff in her other.

"Open wide," she said, and added as if talking to a toddler: "Here comes a train… or would you rather have the Impala?"

"Nooo," Sam groaned, pressing his lips together tightly.

"A train it is then," she misinterpreted his groan, "Open wide, Sammy."

"Eve, no," he grumbled between pressed lips, "I don't feel well."

"What do you think this is for, silly?" she asked with a laugh. She looked worried though. Sam shook his head. Sure, the cough syrup might help with the cough – after all, that was what it was made for – but he feared he'd throw up if he had to taste it or if it got to his stomach.

"Sam," she sounded threatening, like his dad. He shook his head again and swallowed when that made him feel even worse.

"And if I make it an order?"

Oh hell, his imagination was a total pain in the ass. Couldn't she just leave him alone?

"Sam!"

Fine! He opened his mouth and let her shove the spoon inside. He swallowed thickly and gratefully accepted the glass of water she offered him.

"Small sips, Sammy," she whispered, trying to get the glass back, "You'll get yourself sick… have you taken something for the fever yet?"

He nodded weakly. Dean had forced some medicine in him before he'd left that morning.

"Good."

He heard the 'clunk' of the glass hitting the nightstand and felt the mattress shift as she lay down next to him again. She snuggled close in his arms, and for a moment, Sam felt like a married man, holding his wife. This was insane. He was fifteen!

But he had to admit, it felt pretty nice, having her pressed against him, her arm draped over his chest. She felt warm and soft and she helped to keep the cold at bay. Wait until Dean heard a hot girl had been lying in his arms, pressed against him.

Or wait… he better not tell Dean. He didn't want to explain to his brother that he had an invisible girlfriend. Dean would never let him live this down.

"Sam…" she mumbled after he didn't know how long. He'd fallen asleep and her breath tickled his neck when she spoke, "I'm bored…"

"Too bad…" Sam mumbled back. He felt so comfortable now. The prickle in his throat was gone thanks to the medicine she'd given him and his stomach even felt at ease. As long as he wouldn't have to eat anything, he thought he might be fine. Even his fever seemed to have lowered a bit. He could tell it was still there, but it wasn't as bad as the previous days.

"Let's watch a movie!" she suggested. Sam groaned in protest. Sure, he wanted to see a movie too, but he was afraid he'd collapse before he reached the couch in the living room and unfortunately, there was no TV in his bedroom.

"I won't let you fall," she promised, pushing herself up to look at him. He groaned again. Why couldn't she have remained where she was? He was getting cold again.

"Please?" she batted her eyelashes, "Pretty please with strawberries and whipped cream on top?"

"Urggh," Sam half gagged, "Shut up about strawberries and whipped cream! Fine, I'll watch a movie with you."

"Yay!" she clapped her hands and hurried into the living room, leaving him alone.

Sam pushed himself into a sitting position. His arms trembled under his own weight and he dropped back to the bed as a wave of dizziness attacked him. He was shivering violently and his head was pounding at the rhythm of his heartbeat. He ran a quivering hand over his head to wipe away the beads of cold sweat that had formed there.

"Dean…" he mumbled miserably and he closed his eyes, sagging against the headboard of his bed. His breath came in rapid gasps and involuntary moans. A single tear leaked from his eye, but he was too tired to brush it away angrily, as he would have.

A soft hand cupped his chin and wiped the wetness of his face. She brushed her hand through his hair and pushed her shoulder under his armpit.

"Ssh," she mumbled, "You're okay… you're okay…"

"I want Dean," Sam gasped.

"I know," she whispered, "Dean will be here soon. When you're feeling better again we'll move to the living room to watch a movie. Just take deep breaths Sammy. I've got you."

They sat like that for a while: Sam sagged against Evanna and the headboard, and she leaning against him to keep him upright. His head had rolled on her shoulder and her hair fell over his head like a warm blanket.

"Better?" she asked when his breath was normal again and his trembling had decreased a little. He hummed in response. When she spoke, he could feel her breath rumbling.

"Eve…?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"I need to use the bathroom first."

He felt her move and he guessed she was checking to make sure he needed to use the bathroom for perfectly normal reasons, and not to be sick. Slowly, she helped him sit upright and then stand. She held him up when he swayed and his knees buckled and supported him to the bathroom.

"Don't try to pee standing!" she yelled through the door. He actually chuckled a bit at that. He didn't know where in his mind he'd buried her all this time, but it must have been some place.

She helped him to the couch when he was finished and he lay down with a moan. She draped a thick blanket over him, before she hopped to the TV and went through the tapes.

"_Saving Private Ryan_ just came out," she said. A war movie? Thank you very much. He didn't think his stomach would be able to bear that. He shook his head.

"Oh I love this movie! _Grease_?" she asked hopefully. Sam cocked an eyebrow.

"Okay okay!" she laughed and threw her hands up, "No _Grease_… What about _Titanic_? I haven't seen that one yet."

"Mmh, okay…" Sam mumbled, half asleep again already. She pushed the VCR into the player and adjusted the sound. Then she plunged herself into the couch next to Sam.

"Move, bitch," she laughed. Oh yeah, she definitely reminded him of Dean. He rolled on his side and pulled his knees towards his stomach. She grabbed a blanket and lay down on his legs, with her head on his hips and her hand curled around his knee.

"I'm guessing you don't want popcorn?" she asked. Sam gagged at the thought.

"Yeah, I thought so," she said. They watched the movie in silence for about fifteen minutes, before she whispered: "That DiCaprio guy is really cute."

Sam snorted. Then a thought flashed through his mind: if she was a figment of his imagination, and she thought DiCaprio was cute… did that mean he was gay?

He fell asleep before the boat could start sinking.

He woke up again from a cold hand on his forehead. He moaned softly and leaned into the touch. The hand brushed through his hair and whispered something he didn't understand. He slowly opened his eyes.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said with a smile. The whispering must have been Dean telling his father what temperature Sam was running.

"Hey Dean," he croaked.

"That's one girly movie choice you have, bitch," Dean grinned playfully. Sam opened his mouth to say that he hadn't picked the movie, but closed it again. Dean wouldn't understand. Sam looked at his legs, but Evanna was gone. His brother sat on the floor with his back against the couch and watched the end of the movie with him. Sam fell half asleep again but something woke him up. He looked around confusedly until he realized it was Dean who'd woken him up. In fact, it was Dean _sniffing_.

On the TV, Rose said: "I'll never let go, I promise…" and she did what she'd just said she wouldn't do: let go of Jack and let him sink. Sam sluggishly let his arm fall out of the couch, over Dean. His brother quickly wiped his eyes before he gave Sam a waterish false smile.

"I'm fine Sammy," he said, "Just… there's something in my eye."

"Okay," Sam smiled at his brother, and, without moving, gave him a one-armed hug. Dean snorted, but accepted the hug.

*** ****10 years later**** ***

Sam was hunched over the toilet bowl, expelling the contents of his stomach. God, he was never letting Dean chose what they'd have for dinner ever again. Ever. He should have known his stomach wouldn't have been able to hold that greasy shit down. Why couldn't Dean have just brought him the salad he'd asked for?

"God Dean," Sam moaned in between his retching, "I hate you… so much right now…"

Of course, Dean was currently nowhere to be found. When the cramps had started, Dean had mysteriously disappeared. It almost made Sam think Dean had done something in his food on purpose. But no, if that was the case, Dean would have most likely stayed to watch the show.

He shivered and moaned miserably. Tears had sprung to his eyes, but wiping them away had proven to be no use. The force of his sickness just kept pushing tears from his eyes.

He heard the door of their motel room open and close again. It was silent for a moment – well, silent in the other room at least – and then there was a light knock on the bathroom door, before that one opened as well and someone stepped inside.

"Oh Sammy…" the intruder sighed, "You okay? Want me to hold your hair back?"

"Dean…" Sam moaned and he jumped forward again to vomit once more, "I'm really not feeling so good."

"I know, baby," he felt soft hands against his back, "but no worries… I'm here now…"

"… Evanna?"

"Hurlgirl to the rescue, Barfboy."

* * *

><p><strong>So, my first Supernatural one-shot :) For some reasons I just LOVE writing one-shots :D<strong>

**So, a tiny bit of explanation: Sam made Evanna up to keep him company and because he has a fever, all the actions Evanna do - like giving Sam the syrup - are things Sam actually does himself. He just pretends there's someone else doing them for him.**

**So... I hope you liked it :) And if you don't, then I'd like to hear why not and how I could have improved the story in your eyes :)**

**Either way: leave a review and make the writer happy ^^**

**Love,**

**- Lune x  
><strong>


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